Chapter 0066: Thunderbolt Fury

When Grimm once again stepped onto the field, he immediately sensed an overwhelming, oppressive aura emanating from Mark across from him. On his former world, Earth, such talk of an overpowering presence might have been mere metaphor. But in this high-magic realm, where even spiritual will could be forged into tangible force, the pressure and majesty of one’s spirit were all too real—almost substantial.

Through the feedback from his chip, Grimm made a preliminary assessment: his opponent’s strength and constitution were likely above seventeen, with his spirit perhaps slightly lower, at sixteen. Such a formidable blend of physical and mental prowess created a forceful aura, making Grimm feel as though he were standing in the eye of a natural storm, each step a struggle. The skin on the front of his body even prickled and burned faintly.

Grimm frowned.

It was clear he needed to improve his spirit soon, or else, just facing a high-level apprentice would feel like being crushed by immense atmospheric pressure, barely able to breathe. This was the result of his rank being too low. If he were a mid-level apprentice, able to combine his elemental powers with his spirit, he could form a protective field akin to a personal energy shield. Then, even when facing stronger enemies, he wouldn’t be so utterly exposed and defenseless.

Mark the Thunder Axe was a giant of a man, standing two and a half meters tall, broad and muscular. Even without the massive axe in his hands, the wild, integrated force of his presence did not diminish in the slightest. Now, looking at Grimm’s somewhat slender frame, Mark couldn’t help but roar with laughter.

“Kid, you’ve got guts! You knew you’d get thrashed today and still showed up. I like that!”

Narrowing his eyes, Grimm endured the discomfort that came with the disparity in their ranks. He retorted, voice hoarse but steady, “It’s a bit early to say who’ll win. I hope Lord Mark will show some mercy later!”

“Haha! We’ll see. They all say I should break your legs and arms and crush half your bones, but I like you, kid. You actually managed to make that walking corpse Blackwood faint from rage—now that was satisfying. Since I’m in a good mood today, I’ll just break your legs as a welcome to the camp. Consider it a friendly greeting!”

Grimm rolled his eyes. Breaking arms and legs might not be irreparable here, but the pain of recovery was unavoidable. Hearing such “friendly” threats delivered as a generous favor, he could only treat Mark’s words as hot air.

“Hey, are you all done? If the bets are tallied, I’m ready to get started! How long are you going to keep me waiting?” Mark was clearly impatient, rubbing his huge hands together and shouting toward the crowd at the edge of the arena.

The sidelines were as lively as ever, packed with people.

Clusters of high-level apprentices and would-be sorcerers crowded around Mensa, loudly calling out their bets.

“One hundred seventy magic crystals, Mark to win!”

“Two hundred thirty magic crystals, Mark to win!”

“Ninety magic crystals, Mark to win!”

...

On the enormous luminescent stone slab standing at the edge of the field, the tally of magic crystals for Mark’s side multiplied rapidly, soon reaching a peak of three thousand six hundred eighty. On the other side, under Grimm’s name, a solitary seven hundred crystals were displayed.

That last bit was Grimm’s own wager; otherwise, with everyone betting one-sidedly, the match might not have been allowed to proceed.

Today’s odds were far less dramatic than yesterday. After careful consideration, the bald-headed Alf took the role of bookmaker and set the odds at four to one. If Grimm lost to Mark, he would not only suffer physically, but also be saddled with a considerable gambling debt—likely forcing him to sell his services to the camp and repay it slowly through missions.

For this crowd of battle-hardened maniacs, profit was secondary; what they truly relished was breaking the spirit of a newcomer.

Yet, just as the noise subsided and Alf prepared to announce the start of the match, a low, hoarse voice broke through the crowd.

“Three hundred magic crystals, I bet on Grimm to win!”

Though not loud, the voice cut through the air like a chill, freezing the atmosphere and causing everyone to turn, startled, toward its source.

Blackwood?

It was Blackwood!

For a moment, everyone felt as if the world had turned upside down. How could this be? Even if the entire camp bet on Grimm, it shouldn’t have been Blackwood! Weren’t they all supposed to be avenging him?

As the crowd stared in open-mouthed confusion, another voice rang out.

“I also bet on Grimm—two hundred seventy magic crystals!”

Kevin! The Black Hand Kevin!

The crowd gasped, their expressions a spectacle of astonishment. And for the first time, Alf, the bookmaker, felt the sun was uncomfortably bright, and the mountain of crystals beside him less inviting. Though he’d never bothered to study the mysterious arts of divination, he sensed this match was slipping from his control.

Shooting a venomous glare at Blackwood and Kevin, Alf could contain himself no longer and barked, “Bets are set! I declare the battle begins now!”

At Alf’s command, the two combatants sprang into action.

The giant Mark swept a massive hand over his back, and his battle axe appeared in his palm. With a crackling thunderclap, blue arcs of electricity danced across his body. The current was so intense that even Grimm, a hundred meters away, could smell the acrid scent of electricity scorching the air.

No matter how confident he was in his Crocodile Hunter golem, Grimm dared not take Mark’s thunderous blow head-on. He stamped his right foot repeatedly, urging the Crocodile Hunter to burrow underground at its fastest speed.

Fully charged, Mark let out an earth-shaking battle roar and charged after the rapidly descending golem. His steps were not heavy, but each left a shallow crater, webbed with cracks, in the ground. His strides were not long, yet he caught up to Grimm just as the Crocodile Hunter was about to disappear below the surface.

With a rush of wind, the golem’s thick, spiny tail lashed out, colliding with Mark’s electrically charged axe.

A thunderous boom erupted, followed by a spray of earth and stone and a sudden explosion of miniature lightning storms.

Grimm, wrapped in the Crocodile Hunter, plunged deeper into the earth, narrowly evading the flying debris and lightning. Everyone could see that, before the golem vanished, much of its tail had already been blasted away, leaving it in a pitiful state.

Mark, meanwhile, stomped the ground with both feet and, using the momentum, leapt high into the air. With another furious shout, he hurled his battle axe down at the spot where Grimm had disappeared.

A deafening crash followed. The Thunder Axe, shrouded in a blinding storm of lightning, smote the earth, carving a crater half a meter deep. The exploding lightning continued to burst within the pit, fusing the earth and stones into glassy slag.

Such a ferocious strike would have been fatal to a novice apprentice, even if only caught in the aftershock.

From the crowd’s keen spiritual sense, they felt Grimm’s life force suddenly plummet—more than two-thirds vanished in an instant.

Fortunately, the ground had absorbed most of the damage. Grimm bore only the residual shockwaves, so Mark’s blow hadn’t finished him outright, much to the crowd’s regret.

If Mark had been a little faster, a little stronger, perhaps Grimm would have been crushed in the shallow earth. A novice challenging a high-level apprentice? What a joke! If this had been a real fight, Grimm wouldn’t have survived even one of Mark’s attacks. Only someone as useless as Blackwood could have been toppled by a mere novice.

As the crowd watched, some with confusion, some with mockery or contempt, Blackwood concealed his face beneath a dark hood, his eyes like twin green fires flickering in the gloom, lost in thought.

Only Kevin’s expression changed with the tides of the battle, alternating between hope and despair.

Mark’s opening assault had nearly scared the soul out of Kevin. Those two hundred seventy crystals were his hard-earned savings from the past two or three years, meant to buy himself a decent enchanted dagger. If he’d lost them in a moment of madness on a worthless bet, he’d be ruined!

What trick could Grimm possibly have up his sleeve? That Crocodile Hunter would be pulverized the moment it surfaced against Mark’s overwhelming power. Kid, you’d better not let me down, or I’ll camp outside your door every day!

Meanwhile, Grimm was hiding deep underground, spitting blood.

The sheer force of Mark’s blow had left him badly injured. If he hadn’t reacted swiftly, plunging deeper into the earth, he would have been expelled from the field. Even so, the transmitted shock alone had made him cough up three mouthfuls of blood, nearly knocking him out.

Burrowing through the dark earth, using the Crocodile Golem to carve a narrow passage, Grimm hastily tended his wounds. With a grimace, he threw out the new golem he had painstakingly forged the night before, and then guided the Crocodile Hunter to rise slowly toward the surface.

As expected, Mark had anticipated a subterranean assault. The boots on his feet were clearly enchanted, radiating bizarre magical waves that rendered the ground beneath him as hard as steel, blocking all earth-based spells from the Crocodile Hunter.

In the end, Mark simply sat cross-legged in the middle of the field, calling out disdainfully, “Kid, from now on, your attacks from underground are useless. If you still want to fight, come out here! If you want to wait, I’ll wait with you. I don’t believe your puppet can last underground forever!”

No sooner had he finished than Mark sprang to his feet, gripping his axe once more.

Less than a hundred meters away, the Crocodile Hunter began to surface, Grimm’s cold, sharp gaze fixed on him.

“Good, kid, you know your place. Let me show you what real battle means!” With that, blue arcs of lightning crawled over Mark’s body again as he raised his axe and charged forward, howling.

“You’ve been curious about my methods, haven’t you?” Grimm sneered, raising both hands high and shouting, “Come forth, my berserker!”

At his summons, the arena seemed to split asunder.